It’s one in the morning, and I’m at my friend Bonnie’s house using her fancy, in-the-air, high-speed internet. I just finished working on a travel writing story and am now onto the blog. I keep getting distracted by QVC and the Home Shopping Network, two channels that Bonnie is flipping back and forth between on the big screen TV on the other side of the room. Thank God I’m not a girl or into drag because I’d be buying one of everything–little strappy sandals, dangly earrings–and all of it on sale for five easy payments of $29.99.

Look away, Marcus, look away.

The travel writing story I’m working on is due tomorrow, so naturally I didn’t start working on it until yesterday. I put it off, put it off, and really worked the whole thing up to be a big monster in my head. I thought, This is going to be awful. I mean, I’ve never written a travel writing story before now. That being said, I have WRITTEN before, so yesterday I just dug right in–and it wasn’t that bad. Three hours later, I was more than halfway done. But then I did the same thing today, practically convinced myself, I can’t do this. But then I did. Except for changes that come back from my editor, I’m done. (Phew.)

Although I do have to get pictures together, and that terrifies me.

I’m not sure why I scare the shit out of myself about everything even remotely new–writing a travel story, meeting a stranger, hell, taking a trip down the vegetable aisle. I’ve never picked out an eggplant before! I’m sure this started somewhere in my childhood, thinking that something was going to go wrong. And yet I have years of evidence that something–most things, actually–are going to go right. Sure, I’ve never written a travel story before, but I’ve written plenty of other stories, and all of them have been “good enough” or better. Even the ones that came back from my editor marked “start over” were stories that I learned from.

Like, don’t do that again.

Earlier tonight I taught a dance lesson and showed a couple how to do a dip, a move that’s almost always a disaster initially. Everyone has to figure our how to hold their own body, then the guy has to support the girl, and the girl has to trust the guy to support her. It’s a lot. But after a while, things start to come together, and I guess it’s that way with everything new in life–awkward at first, but then you find your rhythm. That’s how it’s been with this blog. I used to sit down petrified. What am I going to say now? And whereas I occasionally still think that, for the most part, this project has become a lot like brushing my teeth–a routine.

Maybe I’ll always have a trepidation about new things–job opportunities, improv shows, visiting foreign cities. But more and more I’m trying to interpret that feeling not as my body’s way of saying, “Don’t do this,” but rather my body’s way of saying, “You HAVE to do this.” Because now that I’ve written the story I’m thinking, What was all the fuss about? That was easy! That was even fun. I’m proud of myself. It may seem like a little thing, writing a thousand-word story, but I think it’s a big deal anytime you do something you’ve been scared of doing, anytime you prove to yourself that you’re more capable than you previously thought you were.